


Just Like Love

by el3anorrigby



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Gift Fic, Longing, Love, M/M, When the boys are away from each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 07:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15658809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: Napoleon's warmth without words and words without sounds and his mouth to Illya's ear, even though so far away, holds him tight and locks him in a place where Illya does not ever want to leave.





	Just Like Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bryonyashley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bryonyashley/gifts).



> What are priorities when you have to write your fave Napollya muse a little ficlet for her birthday? Have a lovely day, dearie, and as requested, I post this little gift here on AO3 with a few additional lines from the one posted on Tumblr. :) 
> 
> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](https://el3anorrigbyworld.tumblr.com/post/176906015254/bryonyashley-what-no-one-ever-talks-about-is) and yes, unbetaed, so sorry for all the mistakes.

Distance is as much a fragile thing as intimacy. Like love. Like secrets. It is fragile as a half-hushed, half-laughing voice across the line, and suddenly Illya finds himself sitting in his bed, palms sweaty and elbows on his knees as he waits for Napoleon to answer his call. They have been away from each other for months. Napoleon’s visit to the CIA is a temporary thing; an old mission that needed some of Napoleon's input had been the CIA’s reason, but it makes Illya worry nevertheless.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve heard from you” is the first thing he says when he hears Napoleon’s voice, and Illya can feel Napoleon’s laughter before he actually hears it, the transmission a split of a second slower than the heart.

“Long enough,” Napoleon answers, a pause, a few calculating beats, and then, without any warning, “I love you.” 

It is only the second time Napoleon’s telling him this, the first time a lifetime away before they were even lovers. And Napoleon had said it just because the Istanbul skyline then had looked so beautiful and unattainable that evening, and Illya had kissed him in return because the curve of Napoleon’s lips was tempting, and everything was orange and red and the world had stopped because he was there with him, and Napoleon had said the words because he had meant it.

It used to infuriate Illya, the way Napoleon was always reading him, his every move, his every little gesture, the words he had said in every way that he hadn’t. But now, this man holds him in ways Illya can’t even imagine. Napoleon's warmth without words and words without sounds and his mouth to Illya's ear, even though so far away, holds him tight and locks him in a place where Illya does not ever want to leave. Truthfully, Napoleon does not have to say anything and still, Illya will know. And right now, there is a silence at this side of the line, the silence that is Illya's, the silence is him thinking that just by hearing Napoleon saying those words can be enough.

“Are you okay?”

Napoleon’s voice drifts and Illya is pulled back to the here and now.

“Yes, I am fine,” he says, half a lie, and half exasperation that Napoleon is not there with him. It’s been too long. But he doesn’t say this, instead, he tells Napoleon that he loves him too.

The three words are something Illya hopes they don’t get to say through the phone often, but thousands of miles away, Illya can feel Napoleon smiling. 

They talk again, discussing missions and UNCLE. Illya gossips about Gaby and the new dress she has bought, making Napoleon laugh. They talk about what Napoleon will cook him when he gets back, but in the end, inevitably, Illya has to hear Napoleon say, “I have to go” into the phone. In a way it says _'I have to go'_ but, also, Illya hears _'I miss you'_ and _'I miss running my fingers up the back of your neck and through your hair'_ , and Illya can tell all these things from his tone, and some of them Illya believes, and some of them he chooses to think are his mere imagination.

There is a brief, blue silence of static noise, before Illya simply says “Yes, you better go”, nodding to the air. He is alone and the room seems large and the blankets rough, the bed hard, and his palms are no longer sweaty but cold, oddly cold. The last thing Illya wants to say is goodbye. But it is expected, and the dread of saying it transmits in the sharper, high-pitched edges of his accent. 

“Peril,” Napoleon says before he hangs up, with mirth in his voice and lightness in his eyes, Illya is sure somehow. “I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

Illya inhales and it is enough to force a little, tired smile from him before he says “take care, Cowboy” and puts down the phone.

Soon, the silence of the room takes over him and Illya closes his eyes, lying himself down on his bed. The smile on his lips, though, lingers, doesn’t leave him long after the conversation has ended.

Illya used to hide inside himself like a wounded animal whenever he feels. He is a thing of discretion, he is something of a black and white photography of a couple holding hands in an angle the camera can’t catch, but since being with Napoleon, everything is as clear as day as to what he thinks and feels inside. 

Even how dangerous it could be, Napoleon has taught him hope.

Hope which is fragile and solid. 

Just like love.


End file.
